Project Freelancer: The Untold Story of Unit S
by Cara Lea
Summary: Kansas did not entirely trust the Director. He was the type of person she always kept her eye on. But he has asked her to lead their top secret unit, Unit S, on dangerous missions including experimental technology, and AI Fragments. What does Freelancer have to hide that she can possible assist?
1. 01 California

Okay so these are the introductory chapters, giving you a peak at the coming agents in Unit S and where they sort of come from. The first is California. So to give you an idea, each chapter will include some sort of fight that will show their specialty. California's is infiltration and hand-to-hand combat. Each character has a theme song. This is sort of playing in my head while they're in action. You've seen RvB. You can use your imagination. I will tell you the theme song at the start of each chapter.

California's theme: "Royals" performed by Youth in Revolt.

Enjoy the story and please feel free to review!

* * *

 **California**

The room was quiet. Large, with a ceiling arching high overhead, this room was obviously important. There were many reasons. First was the size, big enough to hold many people around the central table. This was where plans could be made and detailed. Second was the big computer terminal. It was huge, easily storing all the data on the enemy armies and probably then some.

At the computer was a man, wearing full body armor, including a facemask and headplate. He stood at the computer, typing on one keyboard set. Nearby, several foot soldiers stood at attention, as though waiting for orders. In and around the room were at least 14 other soldiers, some walking to and for in their work efforts, others standing at the table, watching a holographic projection.

The projection showed a ship that must have been very large in person. Near the top of the ship projection was a room, similar looking to the one they were all currently standing in. There were blue dots, marking each of their positions on the projected map. Around the ship were other blue dots for other soldiers, going about their daily business aboard the ship. Most of them were blue, however, there were two red dots. They were in another part of the ship, but were rather quickly making their way towards the room with the computer.

"Sir, they're closing in," one man said, turning to face the man at the computer. The man spun, looking at the room in general.

"Prepare for breach," he ordered in a deep, steady voice.

All of the soldiers stood in a semicircle, facing the door, guns ready. The man at the computer took a step forward, watching, waiting.

With a loud bang and plenty of smoke, the door was blown inward. Everyone watched as, through the smoke, two people came into the room, weapons already aimed. They ducked down, the boy slightly in front, resting on their knees and firing off at the waiting soldiers one by one. He had spikey blonde hair and tan skin. His dark blue eyes were alight with excitement as he fired off 10 rounds into the nearest eight people. From his right, the girl stepped forward.

She had a sheet of long blonde hair that fell to her waist. Her impressive height was only amplified by her boots, which had platforms at least two inches thick. An unusual addition to combat boots. Aviator sunglasses hid her eyes, smothering her expression into cold. She was clearly a professional. She swung her arm around, sinking 6 shots in a row. Each one hit their target, causing the soldiers to fall.

Both the new arrivals got to their feet, looking around as the remaining soldiers pulled out their weapons. Every one of the remaining nine soldiers had their guns aimed directly at either of the two.

"Well, looks like we're going to be having fun," the boy said to his partner, looking around at their competition.

"Concentrate," the girl ordered.

The commander lifted his head, obviously angry despite the facemask. " _Fire!_ " he ordered his warriors. They all shot simultaneously.

Both infiltrators moved, flipping over the fired shots with apparent ease. They landed in unison, the girl landing on her knee again and firing shots at the now converging soldiers. The boy landed and immediately sprang forward, using his arm to knock the nearest guard. His elbow connected, sending the man flying in one direction and his gun in the other. He snatched the weapon straight out of the air, swinging around to bring it down on the nearest guy's head.

Once she ran out of bullets, the girl rose to her feet, tossing her now useless weapons to the side. She twirled in place, using the momentum of her spin to connect her elbow painfully to the nearest soldier's head. She grabbed his weapon from his hand, using her foot to kick him once in the crotch and the next in the chest. The two hits forced him down. From there, she aimed his weapon at him and pulled the trigger.

Two shots rang out, making her look up in surprise. Apparently attempting to ambush her while she was taking on someone else, two soldiers had convened, ready to attack. However the boy had shot them both.

The girl swung the weapon around, firing at the remaining soldiers. "Get the data!" she called to her partner without so much as a 'thanks'. It was unnecessary. After years of working together 'thank you's weren't needed anymore. Having each other's back was a habit.

By now, the leader was approaching. She unloaded her clip into him, and yet he still kept going. "Dammit!" she yelled, dropping the weapon and bringing her arm to block a hit from him. Drawing her first back, she slammed into him with all the force she cold muster. This was quite an impressive amount of strength considering her years of training and efforts in the field. The man spun the entire way around from the sheer force of it. He landed facedown on the ground and did not get back up.

The girl walked over the terminal to meet the boy. "Did you get it?"

"I'm accessing it now," he replied. They watched the screen together, where he carefully selected several files, dragging them over to an icon with a purple 'X' and dropping them. A download bar appeared, estimating a time of 1 minute and 42 seconds to transfer data.

"That's far too long," she muttered aloud, glaring at the computer, willing it to go faster.

"Hey, for all the data we're collecting, that's pretty quick!" he responded, looking at her.

The words had no sooner left his mouth when the room started flashing red, a klaxon siren wailing throughout the building. "You were saying?" she demanded.

They both whirled around to face the room, where the commander was struggling on his hands and knees. That many shots combined with the punch from the girl had convinced them both that he was done. However apparently he had other ideas.

"Protect the chip," she ordered him, stepping forward, grabbing two guns as she went. "I'll hold them off."

Her foot came up and connected with the temple of the commander, sending him sprawling unconscious while she didn't even break stride. She stood, back to back with her partner, weapons aimed and ready.

"Holy shit," she muttered as reinforcements poured in from every direction. The room went from being empty of any living being give those two to jam-packed in the course of a few seconds.

"Go, go!" he called over his shoulder when all of them fired at her at random. With dexterity not entirely noticeable in her impressive stature, she dodged and twisted in midair causing all the bullets to miss her. While she was upside down, mid flip, she began firing her guns at the arrivals.

By the time she landed, she was out of bullets. She threw the guns at the two nearest, hitting them in the head and knocking them backwards into other soldiers. Several of them rushed her at once. She used her knee to block a hit and began fighting back with skill only learned from years of practiced. She moved mechanically, blocking and striking back with power beyond expectation. In one twist, she managed to take out three at once, who took out others when they fell.

"Got it!" a voice sounded in her ear. She relaxed automatically, shifting her weight so she stood back to back with her partner, facing the soldiers. Together, they fought with skill that was entirely unmatched by the crew of this ship. They could get in and out without a problem.

She didn't break concentration, bringing her arm up to block a strike to her head. Using her height to her advantage, she kicked up, hitting her enemy's face with her boots. With the additional leather added to the bottom, the strike was even harder than if she'd just be wearing regular boots. Hooking her boot around his weapon, she retracted sharply, throwing the weapon into the air. She twisted and caught it, holding up and firing out several rounds into the nearest soldiers.

They fell with a loud thud. Those were the last on her half. She turned around just as a loud, thick gurgle cut off suddenly. Her partner had punched the last guy in the throat.

"Don't be a dick," she joked lightly.

He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Who me? Never!"

She rolled her eyes under the sunglasses, shaking her head indulgingly. "Let's go."

"That won't be necessary," said a new voice with a thick accent, causing both soldiers to jump immediately into attention. In the doorway was a tall man with black hair and a beard. His glasses reflected the light of the room, hiding his eyes that the girl knew to be colder than ice underneath. He stepped slowly into the room, looking around as the fallen warriors were slowly climbing to their feet, most clutching their chests. All of them were heading to the medical bay tonight.

"That was impressive," he said. "I can see why you were both recommended to my program."

The two exchanged a look, sharing pride between the two of them. That ended as the Director continued to speak. "However, we only have enough room for one of you in the program."

The girl snatched a gun off the table and pointed it at her partner's head. "Does that mean I get to kill him?"

He looked at her, snorting with humor and shaking his head. "That stun gun won't kill me, as you are well aware, Jasper."

"Don't call me that," the girl snapped.

"But it's your name."

The girl looked utterly revolted. "I hate you, Cory," she muttered, lowering the weapon reluctantly.

"Why? I didn't give you that name." His face changed to one of mock hurt. "Besides, you wouldn't hurt your dear old cousin, would you?"

"Oh shut up," she growled, looking down on him.

"Both of you be quiet!" snapped the Director, glaring between the two. Immediately they both jumped back to attention. "As it happens, we have already made our decision."


	2. 02 Pennsylvania

Theme song: "One More Night" performed by Mike Hart and TJ Routon.

Hope you guys like it! ~CL

* * *

 **Pennsylvania**

It started out with five of them in the room. Long benches covering all four walls, and each bench had one person a piece. Except for the far wall. That had carried two up until the start of initiation.

Initiation. It sounded like the start of some sort of race. In a way it was.

"Initiation," the Director had explained to each of them in a thick southern accent. "Will allow us to evaluate your combat skills in a tight situation. Everything will be measured from your reaction time to your time."

All five had stared at him, not acknowledging his words with anything more than perhaps a blink. "Number 1," said the Counselor, pointing towards the guy with the number plastered to his chest. "Come with us."

That had been more than five hours ago. Only two of them were left now. Neither said anything to the other, sitting on separate benches and staring in opposite directions. None of the first three had returned to the waiting area. This did not really disturb them. They had not expected to return to the waiting area after initiation.

The door opened and the Counselor walked in. "Number 4," he said simply. The girl rose to meet him. She was absolutely ordinary, with blonde hair pulled up into messy pigtail braids. She had sun-tanned skin and freckles on her cheekbones. She had an average height of perhaps 5'8". Her outfit was the typical black body-con suit that every other number had worn for initiation, with black combat boots.

She followed the Counselor into the hallway, the door to the waiting area slamming ominously behind them. She didn't so much as blink.

"So," the Counselor began questioning her as they walked. "You are from Eerie?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"And you were in the United States Army as- oh," he broke off suddenly, looking down at her sheet as if he was having trouble reading.

"Technical Engineer," she finished for him.

"Yes," he said. "And you were recommended to our program by Colonel Randy Gruffer." He paused, and she did not speak to fill the silence. After a minute, he couldn't stop himself from speaking again. "That's quite a recommendation."

"He was a good commander," she said at last, looking straight ahead. "I learned a lot from him."

The Counselor stared at her, feeling impressed for the first time since laying eyes on her. However, good words spoken about her was nothing. She needed to have more than a fancy background to survive in a Unit like the one they were forming. And looking at her twig arms and skinny body did nothing to make him feel that she was the one. Even if she was an engineer.

He pointed at the nearest door. "Down those stairs and to the left, you will find the arena. That is where the initiation will take place."

She looked over where he was pointing. "Okay," she replied stoutly. The Counselor watched her walk away. Her feet were light on the floor despite her heavy boots. She looked entirely unconcerned actually. He couldn't help but wonder how this was going to go. The first Three had not made it through initiation. One of them was even in the hospital wing. How would this stick figure do compared to those before her?

Number 4 entered the arena from an impressive set of double doors. Her green eyes roved over the long room, taking in every detail. It was very plain, but her eyes narrowed a fraction as she eyeballed every nook and crevice. She was not fooled by such things.

On the other end of the arena a table rose out of the ground, bare give the small, blinking device sitting atop. In front of it, a huge wall appeared, lifted with a hydraulic hiss. Before that appeared what looked like a massive ropes course. The girl watched, one eyebrow raised as the impressive obstacle course materialized before her.

"Number 4," a familiar voice said over a loudspeaker. She turned and looked up at an observation deck overlooking the arena. The glass was tinted, so she couldn't see inside. Still her eyes found the Director even though she couldn't see him. "Your objective is to defuse the bomb," he informed her. "You are to begin your task at the end of the count down." He did not ask if she was ready. He did not need to.

"Yes sir," she answered, turning away from him.

A computerized voice began a simple countdown. Before she had gotten halfway, the ground parted yet again, several gun turrets rising straight from the ground and pointing at her. She did not wait.

She turned to the one nearest to her, directly to her left, and brought her arms down. Her fists came down on a joint. The force of her hit and the location were deadly accurate. The gun snapped off it's mount crashing down in front of her.

From up in the observation deck, the Counselor's eyes popped. "That is quite good reaction time," he commented.

The Director narrowed his eyes with interest. "Or foresight."

On the floor, the girl and jumped onto the nearest turret, waiting until the last possible second to jump again. The guns all shot, firing at that turret and taking it out easily. She did this jumping game until there were only a few turrets left. She went to make another jump when the nearest turret to her fired, hitting her in the boot.

She didn't so much as yelp. Instead, she landed in a roll, grabbing the very first gun straight off the ground. She landed on one knee, gun pointed and already aimed. She fired off four rounds without missing a beat, taking out the remaining turrets with ease.

She tossed the gun to the side. From her crouched position, she took off running, using one of the now destroyed weapons to propel herself upwards in a flying leap. She landed on top of the wall, staring down at the table in front and a little to the left of her. The bomb was still blinking.

"Bring in the distraction," the Director ordered.

"Yes sir," the Counselor replied, pressing a button on the scroll he was holding.

To the far right, a door opened from the wall, soldiers filing in. She leaped, narrowly avoiding a shot from one of the fighters. Feet first, she actually landed on one of the men, sending him down with a sickening crunch. She kicked his gun into her waiting hands, firing at the remaining soldiers.

One of them rushed at her, kicking her weapon straight out of her grip. For the first time that night, Number 4 responded to an incident, baring her teeth in frustration. He punched at her, and she quickly dodged the attack, coming at him from below with an uppercut.

She continued to fight them off. It was clear she had limited hand-to-hand combat experience, and yet her confidence did not waver. From the observation deck above, the Director lifted his chin, impressed.

After finally taking down the last of the men, the girl whirled around and raced to the table. She leaned forward, examining the explosive with those perceptive green eyes of hers. Carefully, she reached down, tapping the side with the right amount of force in the right place. The side fell away, revealing a labyrinth of delicate wires underneath.

Working quickly, she began to maneuver the wires. Any wrong move would end in most certain death, so she had to be very careful. However time was running short, and she couldn't risk running out.

Up in the deck, the Director smirked. "Send in the live rounds," he ordered his subordinate.

The Counselor hesitated. "Are you sure it is wise to use live rounds in the presence of an explosive."

The Director was not one to take arguments well. "Just do it!" he snapped, glaring at his subordinate with burning hatred.

The Counselor frowned. "Yes sir," he murmured at last, pushing another button on his scroll.

Number 4 kept working on the bomb. She glanced up with a slight gasp as a door, opposite to the one all the earlier fighters had come through, opened. In poured more soldiers, holding real rifles and shotguns with live ammunition. One pointed and fired at her. She only dodged it just in time.

Leaving the bomb on the table, she raced forward to take on her newest attackers. The dexterity required to dodge live bullets, aimed by well practiced soldiers…it was not an easy task. She would not survive this encounter without a weapon.

As she approached the nearest man, she kicked forward, flipping backwards where she stood. Her foot connected with his chin, sending him flying backwards. Her arms reached out at the last second to snatch his rifle from midair. She landed a little clumsily, having miscalculated her landing. She stepped backwards to compensate for the lost balance. Even so, she was able to successfully aim and fire her weapons. She took three down, knocking their weapons out of their hands and hitting them squarely in the chest.

"Does she know they're wearing bulletproof vests?" The Counselor asked, amazed at her aim.

The Director's eyes flashed. "She figured it out."

The girl glanced over at the bomb, worry beginning to creep in. She only had so much time to defuse it before it killed them all. There was no time to waste on these losers.

She ran, baseball sliding between a guy's legs and making it to the table. From there, she knocked the guy down, kicking him, but picked the bomb up again. She resumed her work, her eyes and hands glued to the explosive.

One of the remaining soldiers raced up to her. She spun, hitting him with the bomb itself, not breaking concentration.

"Fifteen seconds," the Counselor said aloud, sounding genuinely worried.

Her hands were working at hyper speed now. Her eyes unfazed. The clock was running down.

The clock suddenly stopped ticking and the flashing red light turned green. Without so much as a word, Number 4 replaced the now-harmless device to the table and turned around. Her green eyes once again found the Director, even through the tinted glass on the observation windows. Around her, the soldiers were starting to get up. All of them would need a trip to the med bay, or at least a long night in recovery.

The Director smirked, looking down on the girl with something like hunger. The Counselor narrowed his eyes. "Add her to the roster," The Director said, his southern drawl more prominent than ever.

"Yes sir," the Counselor answered, typing away on his scroll. "She has been added."

"Good," the Director answered, not removing his eyes from the girl below them. "Welcome to Project Freelancer," he said to her, even though she could not hear him. He turned, preparing to walk away, but waited to the last second to take his eyes off of her. She never took her eyes off him. "Agent Pennsylvania."


	3. 03 Colorado

Theme song: "Chandelier" performed by PVRIS

Hope you like this chapter. It's a bit of a turnaround compared to the last two. Remember to review!

* * *

 **Colorado**

One long stroke of the brush. A wave, white seafoam. There was a bird in the sky. The man behind the brush narrowed his eyes, focusing on the water. The color was all wrong.

" _I think you're just a little confused," he said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder._

He turned, reaching for his endless bottles of paints. Somewhere in the mess was the right combination of colors that would fix his ocean.

" _I'm not confused!" the boy replied, glaring at the older man. "Stop calling me that!"_

Ah yes, there it was. A dash of green, some _raw umber_ , a slight pool of blue. Stir. He frowned. It still wasn't entirely right.

" _I don't know what else to say," the man said, shaking his head. "It's what you are."_

" _What am I exactly, dad?" the boy asked, looking up at the older man with rage burning his eyes._

…

RJ paused, looking back. His pursuers were slower than he'd calculated. That meant he might have time to-

No time! He could hear their footsteps not far from behind. He raced forward, feet pounding on the dock below him. The scent of salt accompanied by sweet relief filled his every nerve. This was it. He was home.

He shed every worry he had as he made a final leap, feet planting firmly on the rocking boat beneath him.

"Come back here asshole!" called a voice from behind. Hand gripping the mast, he spun around to look back. His pursuers had caught up. The lead was smirking, dark eyes locked on RJ, his hand tracing the outline of the engraving on a thick gold chain around his neck. "You have nowhere to go," he cooed sneeringly. "So why don't you just give up.

RJ was not one to _ever_ give up. Such was his stubborn nature.

" _I don't know_ what _you think you are! But it's not this."_

"No."

The leader shook his head, laughing ever so slightly. "Guess you're as stupid as you look." In the short time between his two sentences, RJ made a quick assessment. He felt as though time slowed down while he analyzed his current situation. Caught between three thugs and the ocean beating violently against the craggy rockface above. There really was no escape.

That meant he had to fight.

He smirked as the leader gave the order that would end his life. "Get him."

" _I'm not confused father. Perhaps you are the one who is confused."_

RJ leaped back as they charged. A lifetime on the ocean had prepared him for this moment. He pulled from the wall of his ship twin curved blades. They were usually mounted on his wall, either outside if it was a calm day or in if it as stormy. However they were _not_ for decoration. Despite their shiny exterior, they were sharp bladed weapons of death that RJ was skilled in using.

He slashed deftly, but his opponent- a skilled street fighter –jumped out of the way. RJ was not deterred. At the end of this day, he would win this battle.

Two against one. It was hardly a fair fight. Then again, the leader wasn't joining in, it appeared. He sat back, content to let his men do the job.

RJ dodged another hit, twisting in what looked like a pirouette. His blade came down with a glint of light. The man let out a gurgling bellow, stumbling backward before falling into the saltwater below. A cloud of red formed.

Street fighters, thugs, who knew whatever these men called themselves these days. Either way, RJ was an ex-Navy Commander. His skills with the blade and on the ocean far surpassed those of his enemies.

The leader bared his teeth in anger, taking a step forward on the dock.

A bigger wave rocked the boat, causing the man to lose his footing. RJ did not waste the opportunity. He ducked forward, knocking the other man's feet out from under him entirely and slashing low with his blade. Hot and sticky blood splattered the deck of his stern.

He rose to his feet, ready to face the leader head on, but the leader was one step ahead of him. Before RJ could react, the leader had knocked a fist straight into his head. He stumbled as the boat rocked, his blades flying some distance before landing haphazardly on the floor too far for either of them to reach.

The leader took his chance, leaping forward and slamming his fist down again. RJ rolled with the hit, gripping the man's shoulders in his balled up fists and kicking upwards.

Both men were tossed as another wave, more violent than any before, tipped the boat. Helplessly, both men were thrown into the frigid water.

" _I am not confused," his father said, pounding his fist down onto the table for emphasis. "There is nothing to be confused about."_

" _Father- " the boy began but was cut off._

" _NO! You are a_ girl _, child. A GIRL. There is nothing confusing about that."_

" _I'm a boy!" the younger said, rising to his feet. His cheeks were flush with anger. "It's really simple. I am not a girl, I'm a boy, your son!"_

 _The man glared at him with intense hatred. "I have no sons!"_

 _The boy froze, looking upon the older man coldly. He blinked, seeming to realize what he'd said. "Honey," he began again, sounding shocked and a little scared._

" _No," the son replied, lifting his chin. "You don't have a son." He gathered his stuff to him, turning away from the old man and walking with a purpose. He was leaving._

" _Sophie, wait!" the man called after him. The boy froze._

" _Sophie is dead," he said back after a second. "My name is RJ now."_

" _Sophie please," the man tried again, but RJ just rolled his eyes and kept walking._

…

His phone rang, breaking him out of his reverie. He reached over and picked it up, looking at the number while he sipped calmly at his tea. The usually soothing drink caught in his throat, making him cough as he looked. What would his Fleet Admiral want to call him for at this time?

He clicked on the green 'call' button and put the phone against his ear. "This is Rider Jaye McCutcheon. How may I help you, sir?" he answered in his familiar military voice. Fleet Admiral Jenson was _not_ a man to be informal with.

So he was thoroughly shocked when the voice on the other hand replied lightheartedly, "RJ, relax, it's just me. Jenson," he added unnecessarily. RJ knew who it was.

"Sir, yes sir," he replied, making it sound only fractionally more easygoing while still keeping formalities. He had gone to war with this man. Experience had taught him this was not a man to piss off.

"Hey, calm down, would ya?" the Fleet Admiral said jovially. "Look, I gotta talk to you about this program. Can we meet up?"

"Program?" RJ asked, tilting his head and resuming work on his painting. He'd almost gotten the color of the water right. Maybe a little more green?

"Yeah, well, it's more of a project of sorts…I got wind of it from the Secretary," he admitted, making RJ pause. "Apparently they're running this new program. Special operations. Top secret. I know you got out and are doing your _art_ _project_. However I was asked to give a list of operatives for the dive team, and I was thinking of putting you on there. It would mean giving up your studio, but you'd be back on the water again. What do you say?"

RJ put his paintbrush down, soaking it in a cup of water. He reached up slowly, tugging on the thick gold chain hanging from his canvas. Slowly, he let his fingers trace the engraving on it, thinking about his options. Back on the water…?

"When would you like to meet?" he asked, smiling at the thought.


	4. 04 Ohio

Theme song: "Til We Die" by Slipknot. Although it doesn't really play while he's out there lol

This one is a lot calmer than the first three. For once, there isn't really any fighting. Hope you guys enjoy! Please remember to review!

* * *

 **Ohio**

The temperature was beyond cold. Anytime the wind blew formed minute ice particles on his uniform. Even simply breathing the air hurt. It was a good thing he had such a thick uniform. For he had been sitting there for a long time.

Part of the art of infiltration was knowing your enemy inside and out. In order to successfully get in without making even the slightest change to your surroundings was challenging unto itself. If you didn't know every facet of the place you were going, how could you manage to pull it off?

Tobias was a man of business. He was not in the practice of failure, and completed every objective to the utmost degree. Part of this job was doing less pleasant tasks as fully as if they were the actual job itself. His team could not infiltrate this building without accurate intelligence. He could not gather the intelligence from a warm room with a mug of hot water. (Tobias never drank anything than water of varying temperature.) If that meant that he had to sit out here for the past seven hours in the bitter cold, then he would. It had to be done.

Truth was, he wished he could gather the necessary information from a computer terminal. However that's _not_ why he was hired. All of the intel they were looking for _was_ on a computer somewhere. That somewhere was in this building. And that meant he had to break into this building.

"Toby," a voice said over his comm. "You've been out there a while. Have you not gotten in yet?"

"Don't _ever_ call me 'Toby'," he grunted into his microphone. "And from what I can gather, they're going dark in 10. The team should be able to make a move then."

"You sure?" someone else said over the intercom. "I mean how do you know?"

Tobias's eyes narrowed in anger, although his partners could not see. How long did he have to sit out here to convince them he was right? Was seven hours not long enough? "I know," he replied gruffly.

"Well good," the original voice spoke again. "Get up here. We're going to need you."

Tobias never disobeyed a direct order from his CO. Personally, he would want eyes on the objective at all times, watching to make sure they weren't going to be ambushed. Tobias could sit there for a few more hours if he had to. He didn't mind the cold that much.

However he'd been given a command, and Tobias _never_ disobeyed a direct order. So instead he pulled himself upright, ignoring the cramps in his stiff muscles and the rush of blood to his limbs. "Yes sir."

…

Tobias approached the meeting point on his snowmobile. To be certain he wasn't walking into a trap, he had stopped on the hill overlooking and used his sniper to check that everyone was there. His CO, Lt. Donaldson was watching his troops. There were four of them. Hart was loading extra clips into his belt in preparation. Burke was leaning against one of the snowmobiles. Graham was polishing his pistol. Feeling this was relatively typical behavior before a heist, Tobias had felt comfortable approaching.

"Well well," Burke said, taking a step toward him. "Nice of you to show up, _Yeager_."

Tobias shot her a glare. "You're welcome, _Brenna_."

"Both of you be quiet," snapped Donaldson, walking forward. Tobias shot her a look of venom. He and Burke had _never_ seen eye to eye. After spending seven hours every day the last 4 days gathering intel in the killer cold, he would have appreciated her to be a bit warmer.

"Now, the objective is to get in, get the intel, and get out. No games," he added, glancing between Hart and Graham. "Graham, you will be our lookout."

"Yes sir." His arm came up to a salute. Tobias frowned. _He_ was the sharpshooter in the team, not Graham. Shouldn't it be his job to lookout?

"Hart, you and I will be lead," Donaldson said, turning to the older gentleman, who nodded and gave a subtle 'yes sir'. "Yeager, you and Burke will go together. Now listen you two, I know you've never seen eye to eye." This was an understatement. Burke and Tobias had been at each other's throats since day 1. "But you will need to work _together_ to complete this mission. I'm counting on you two to get the intelligence swiftly and safely."

Tobias thought that perhaps Donaldson was being a little unfair. Sure, he and Burke had tried to kill each other numerous times in the barracks, but on the battlefield they made a good team. Great, actually. Her sharp attitude combined with his observational skills made a deadly weapon paired together. And while they definitely hated together, neither of them ever broke an order.

"I'm depending on you," Donaldson added, looking at Tobias with a sort of desperation he always had before a mission.

…

The facility was very tiny, just one building. There was a kitchen area where the workers went to relax, an open common area that connected to 3 shared bedrooms and a single. Down the hall to a lab. Across the hall from the lab was the computer terminal. This was where their objective was.

Tobias threw his back against the wall, looking readily at the door to his right. Across the entryway, Burke nodded. Footsteps resounded against the metal floor, heading their way. Just one set, meaning it was probably the night guard doing his rounds.

It wasn't luck that Tobias had chosen this time to infiltrate. This building had a team of three scientists and four guards, one of which was assigned to patrol the facility at night while the others slept. There was no definitive nighttime this far south at this time of year, but it was close enough when everyone went to sleep. Everyone but this one guy.

The man came into view, padding quietly past without even noticing Burke or Tobias. The latter watched him go past, staring at him in disbelief. Burke silently tread forward, hitting the butt of her weapon into the back of his head. A quick, yet still painful way to eliminate the man.

Without looking back, the two entered the building. They stepped in time, making sure their footsteps matched. That way, if anyone was listening, the would still only hear one set of footsteps.

Over the com, Donaldson spoke. "This is where Hart and I leave you. We'll watch the perimeter, but you're on your own in there. Good luck."

Burke rolled her eyes. "Thanks command. We'll be home soon."

They walked the relatively short distance together, matching pace, until they were at the computer lab. Tobias hung back while Burke crept forward, pointing her weapon and checking first. "Clear," she muttered, lowering her weapon. Tobias took the lead now, entering the room.

There were plenty of computers lying around the room, but Tobias was able to easily identify the one he was looking for. It was the biggest, most impressive looking one. It was also the only one that looked as though the people here bothered with upkeep.

Smirking, he sat down and inserted the memory stick. The data they were looking for was not likely to be lying around without protection. The terminal was already on, and it was password protected. He clicked his fingers against the appropriate keys, pulling up a page with many letters and numbers.

"That stuff's gibberish to me," Burke muttered over his right shoulder. "Do you really understand it?"

"No," he responded sarcastically. "I got hired for my good looks."

"Psst, no wonder you're getting kicked off then," she replied nastily. Tobias ignored her. After a moment filled with only his flying fingers on the keyboard, she spoke again. "So what are we looking at?"

"Security code," he answered shortly.

She waited, as though expecting him to explain more. When he didn't she tried again. "Meaning?"

"It's a three tiered lockdown with a two thousand fifty-six bit encryption key," he muttered. "Not impossible to break, but challenging nonetheless. I'm working on spoofing one of those keys right now."

"Wow," she whistled. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"Get used to it," he said, glancing up at her. "You'll have to learn how to do it when I'm gone."

She sneered unpleasantly. "Why are _you_ transferring out, huh? They could've picked anyone, and they decided on you."

Tobias frowned, typing madly away and thinking. While Burke might have been an ass about it, she had a valid point. Out of all the members on his team, they had chosen him specifically. For what purpose? Why him?

"I mean, if they needed a sharpshooter, they could have taken any one of us."

Tobias wanted to look at her, to see her face. She sounded almost forlorn. What a change from her usual personality. "I guess they wanted a computer programmer."

He hit the last button as he spoke, finishing the encryption and unlocking the data. "Forty-seven seconds to transfer," he said, leaning back in his chair. He swiveled so he met her eyes. They were cold and angry, looking at him as though he had committed a fairly heinous crime. Technically, breaking in here and stealing this information _was_ a crime, but nothing to warrant that look from her. "What did I do this time?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Do you have to go?" she asked at last, sounding both upset and even a bit ashamed. Tobias narrowed his eyes.

"Aren't you happy I'll be out of your hair?"

She snorted. "Of course. And I hope when all is said and done I never see you again. But we're still in our prime, and whether or not we like it, we _are_ a good team."

He blinked, sitting back in his chair. Burke was a person of business as well, one of the reasons they worked so well together. They did not like each other one bit, but that did not stop them from using their's and each other's strengths in field to the utmost. Their ability to get the job done right was what made them exceptional. It sounded like, while Burke did not want to admit it, she did not want him to go. Because if he left, she would lose that dynamic that made her so efficient.

Well she'd just have to find it elsewhere. He most certainly was going to have to.

Not more than two weeks ago he'd been told about this Project Freelancer shit he was going to be involved with. Only less than a week did he get his reassignment order. All it told him was where to be picked up and what not to bring. It didn't say anything about where he was going to be going, who he was going to be answering to, or if he would ever come back from it.

Using his technological skills, he'd done research, limited due to his time in the field on this current mission, on the Project to figure out more. It was run by Director Leonard Church, and the eventual purpose of the program was to work with AI programs in the field. AI were incredibly complex. They were almost impossible to make, and once made, just as difficult to acquire. While AI were not human, they were based on human minds, and if you came across a smart one, they sometimes had real emotions. It was kind of scary, actually.

It was no wonder to Tobias how he'd been chosen over everybody in his team. He was the programmer. If they were working with AI, they'd probably need some of those.

Still, he did not want to think about Burke missing him. It made her less of a tool to him. "Transfer complete," he said coldly, pulling the memory stick out of the computer and closing everything back to the page from before. "Let's get out of here."

"Whatever," she muttered, clearly still burning with envy. "Let's get out of here."

It wasn't an order, not that Tobias would have listened to her orders anyway. But they were on a mission, and she was a good business partner whether he liked her or not. So rather than argue, he let her take the lead and followed her back out into the cold.

Two days. In two days time he would never see her, or Donaldson, or the others again. Two days he would probably be across the galaxy fighting. Who the hell knew where he'd actually be in two days? All he knew was that in two days, his life would change forever.


	5. 05 Iowa

This character has gone through so many changes in just the time I've written this. It's taken two tries to get her right. Hope you like it! Kindly review your thoughts!

Theme song: "Me Too" by Meghan Trainor

* * *

 **Iowa**

The girl sat at the bar, her hair fanned out in front of her face. She was on maybe her 4th shot this hour, meaning to the bartender that she was legally drunk. The bartender quietly decided he wouldn't be giving the girl anything with alcohol in it, at least not for another hour.

Club Dinah was very popular for it's strong beer, hot food, and pumpin' music. The dance floor was always full of rowdy people, grinding against one another in an effort to have a good time. Most of them were too drunk to be able to remember it all the next day. The bartender was not particularly fond of this style of partying, but had long since grown used to it. Then again, a great deal of the people who came in and out of this bar were soldiers at some point in their life, if not currently. Those who were left were going to be sooner or later.

The fact of the matter is, with the war at it's bloodiest, almost everyone was being drafted in to the military nowadays. The bartender had only just escaped the draft himself, by age. Being 54 had it's uses. However it almost saddened him to know that the majority of the faces he saw were going to die young.

That didn't stop him from despising certain characters, such as the crowd of boys approaching the bar now. Not one of them looked a day older than eighteen. Twenty-one was pushing it. He decided on the spot not to give them anything alcoholic, even if they _did_ have ID. Years on the job had taught him much. He knew young faces when he saw them. Could even distinguish those with baby faces from those who genuinely were babies.

One of the guys slid into a seat, laughing loudly with his buddies. They weren't drunk yet, but were probably hoping to be soon. The bartender wondered what kind of drunks they'd make. Would they be happy drunks, or angry? He had his suspicions the crew leader, the only one in the chair so far, was probably an angry drunk. Only reinforcement to his plan _not_ to give the rough-houser any alcohol. That would just be fueling the fire.

"Get me a Lager," the boy said, leaning forward in his chair with interest. "One for each of us."

The bartender, fuming silently, conducted a brief headcount. There were eight of them. Why were all of the others crowding around their lead henchman's chair instead of taking their own. There were definitely enough seats for everyone. The bartender sighed with frustration, reaching under the table for several mugs. It was luck that these rowdy boys weren't able to see through the bar. These mugs were special. He put a chemical in the bottom to dilute the alcohol, rendering the drink harmless.

He had just finished filling the fourth one when the man spoke. "Hey babe, what you up to?"

The bartender's head snapped up, realizing while he was still mid-motion that the greeting was not to him. Then he froze, realizing who it was to.

The girl with the long hair looked up at him, eyes wide. She blinked slowly, swaying slightly in her seat. The bartender frowned. If he had known that these boys would come up and bother her, he probably wouldn't have given her as many drinks as he had. She was clearly a lightweight. He couldn't remember having seen her in here before, but considering the usual number of patrons he served throughout the night, it wasn't much of a feat. to be forgotten.

"Hey, what you lookin' at?" the guy asked, looking at the bartender as if he were as disgusting as the bartender thought the boy was. "Get back to pouring my drink, old man!" The bartender shook his head, going back to filling the mugs without argument. Still, he felt concerned for the girl. She was probably too drunk to answer straight.

"Don't mind him babe," the bartender heard the guy start on the girl again. "You know, my buds and I, we can take real good care of you."

"I- no," the girl said drowsily. She sounded thoroughly confused. "What?"

"Come sit over here," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards him. "Why don't you tell me your name."

"Leave her alone," said a voice. The bartender finished pouring the drinks and set them on the table, glancing over to the source of the voice. It was a girl with red hair that curled into her jawline. He couldn't see her eyes from here, but the voice that had sounded was not entirely feminine. However there was no mistaking the figure underneath was definitely female.

"You got a problem, buddy?" the main guy said, glaring at the other girl with open hostility.

The girl shifted her weight in her seat, adjusting her position ever so slightly so she wasn't entirely hunched over her glass. She sighed deeply, as though she were tired. "I'm not the one with a problem," she answered in that deceptively deep voice again. "I just hate idiots. Especially loud idiots."

The boy's eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

Redhead continued her explanation as though he hadn't spoken. "Now, when someone gets on my nerves, I can usually handle it. But you are starting to annoy everybody. So why don't you get your hands off my girl here and go back to your own business?"

The boy stood up, facing Redhead. His hand came up to clasp around her upper arm fiercely. "What're you gonna do, bitch?" he spat angrily.

The bartender could tell a fight when he saw one. While rowdy guy was aggressive, the bartender could immediately see the change overcome Redhead. The way she stiffened, her every movement, indicated to the bartender that she was serious.

As if in slow motion, Redhead slapped her palms into the table, elbows bent out. She rose gradually to her full height. She was probably wearing heels, but even so, was quite tall for a girl. For the first time, the bartender was able to appreciate just how muscular this girl was. There was a scar across her right triceps that was quite eye-catching. She finally stood, perhaps 6ft total, her head hunched. With deliberate motion, she took a side step and brought her face up to glare at him with cold brown eyes. The light reflecting from them caught the bartender's breath. He was right to have assumed this girl meant serious business.

It seemed the guy wasn't as stupid as he appeared. He took a step back, as though assessing that something wasn't quite right here. "Come on guys," he muttered to his entourage, not looking away from Redhead. His pals were already crowding forward to swallow him into their ranks. "Let's go."

With a final glare at Redhead, the guys turned and vanished back into the crowd. They had not had so much as a sip of their beers. The bartender did not even bother to feel offended. He was so glad they were gone, he couldn't spare a second opinion.

"Go home," the redhead ordered the other girl. "Get some sleep." She didn't watch to see if the other girl took her advice or not, just sat back on her stool and took another swig of her drink.

…

The girl sat the table, leaning back in her chair lackadaisically and letting her red hair fall against her cheek. Her legs were crossed under the table, her arm resting against the armrest. She looked entirely relaxed in her position. To the trained eye, however, it was clear she was ready for anything. Her muscles were stiff, her breaths even, but most telling were her eyes. They were sharp, flicking around the room readily. It was clear she was alert for change.

Suddenly her eyes snapped over to the door. They locked there, not so much as blinking as she stared expectantly. Her head lifted ever so slightly and her eyes narrowed.

The door opened. She didn't so much as blink as two men entered the room. One was a tall man with a five o'clock shadow and glasses. The other was shorter, his dark eyes staring hungrily at her as if she were a long-awaited meal.

"Beatrice Miller," the second man read a file from his scroll in a deceptively soft voice. He sat down, looking up at her. Her eyes narrowed even more, her head dropping a slight inch.

"Bea," she corrected easily. "Everyone calls me Bea."

"Yes," the man responded in that same voice. The girl shifted her weight, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward. In this position, she was more prepared for whatever this man had for her.

"You were recommended to us by your squad leader, Lt. Fogel," he continued. "And you passed all our tests with general ease."

"That's cause they were easy," Bea lied. Truth was, those tests could have been dead hard to anyone who didn't know what the hell they were doing.

The second man- Bea suddenly remembered his title was 'Counselor' (what an odd title)- looked down at his scroll. "What was your relationship like with your parents?" he asked out of the blue.

Bea's fists balled into a fist on the table. She leaned forward, turning her head so her left eye fell on him. "You want to know how my parents reacted when I came out, huh?"

The Counselor didn't seem at all disturbed. "Were the upset with you?"

Bea leaned back again, waving her hand in front of her in a shrug. "Can't remember. I came out when I was three."

The Counselor tilted his head. "That's awfully young to know," he said.

Bea's head shook ever so slightly in disgust, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Did _you_ know you were a boy by age three?"

The Counselor laughed ever so slightly. "That's different."

Bea shrugged, looking at him again as though he were a mere annoyance. "How?" He opened his mouth to answer but she cut him off. "My situation was only different in that everyone _called_ me boy until I corrected them."

The Counselor looked at his scroll again. "And you've been on hormones since you were 10 years old?"

Bea smiled. "My doctor was kind enough to prescribe them for me."

The Counselor looked up at her, his eyes again hungry. She leaned back ever so slightly, not liking the look on his face at all. "And you've been through surgery?"

Bea had had enough. "Why does this matter to you?"

"We just want to know if there will be any physical limitations in the field," the first man answered for him. His face was one she could relate to. He was clearly entirely uninterested in her actual history. All he cared was what she could do for him. Nothing more. The Counselor, however, looked as though he wanted to dissect her, and she didn't like it one bit.

"Clearly I have none," she muttered, looking away.

"You do not like talking about it?" the Counselor inquired, smiling ever so slightly.

"Ugh," Bea groaned, her upper lip curling revulsion. "Everyone looks at me and sees my gender. That's all they care about. But there's more to me than that! My gender doesn't make me who I am."

"Who are you?" the Director said, leaning forward intently.

Bea looked him up and down, distaste evident in flickering gaze. Finally, she smirked, tilting her head back. "I'm a killer," she answered. "I kill in cold blood." And a smile played those red lips.

…

The girl got to her feet, her red hair bouncing with the motion. "Thanks for the drink," she said to the bartender, glancing up at him with her cold eyes. She tossed a couple bills onto the counter, where he promptly reached out and grabbed them. It was way more money than was needed to cover her tab, but Bea was shipping out tomorrow, and she didn't care much for what she was leaving behind. Besides, the octuple blockheads hadn't paid for their drinks. He could consider eight lager's worth of payment plus tip.

Bea walked with purpose, even in heels. In fact, Bea hardly went anywhere without them. Pre-transition days, she'd worn them as a symbol, trying to inform people who she was really. After all these years, she felt more comfortable in them than out. Of course, when she shipped out tomorrow, she would probably be leaving them behind.

Her dress clung to her waist before billowing out, down to her knees. Her green dress with the black polka dots was her favorite. She wasn't supposed to bring anything with her on this new deployment, as everything would be provided to her. However she figured she'd sneak this outfit on somehow. It was her favorite, after all.

She had not gotten even 50 yards down the street from the nightclub when she heard those heavy footsteps behind her. She froze in place, smiling with extreme pleasure. This was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

"Hey baby," an irritatingly familiar voice sounded. It was like music to her ears. She didn't turn to watch him and his idiot buddies approach her. She didn't have to.

"You took away my fun for the evening," he said angrily. "So we're gonna take it back."

She heard a couple of snickers from around the group. Clearly, they thought they were going to win this fight. They did not know how wrong they were.

"Listen, _buddy_ ," she said, looking up and around. "You're messing with the wrong chick." He snorted but she continued. "Black belt in karate, years of open-fire combat experience, and special forces training…I can take that gun out from your hands before you say 'kitty', but the truth is, I don't need a gun to kill you." He exchanged an uneasy glance with his nearest pal before smiling, pulling the gun out of his back pocket. Amateur. Bea had learned when she was still a child not to be that stupid with live ammunition. "Leave now, and you'll get to keep your life."

"You really think you can take on all of us?" he laughed, and his buddies chuckled with him.

"Oh, I know," she said, raising her eyebrows. This boy didn't even understand how afraid they should be. "I've handled worse than your ugly face."

He snorted again and they all fanned out, forming a circle tight circle around her. "Your words don't scare me, babe," he growled. This guy had some major issues. He wanted to be a predator. And yet a true warrior knew when he was outmatched. Numbers meant nothing to a skilled fighter.

She lifted her head confidently. Her heels clicked as she walked right up to him. As a nervous habit, his gun came up to point at her chest. She shook her head, laughing at him. "Amateur," she taunted him. Her hand came up, gripping the weapon while her other snapped against the tendon in his extended arm. With a crack, he was forced to let go of his weapon.

This weapon could fire exactly 8 shots before the clip was out, which meant she had to get everything exactly right.

The nearest bullhead jumped at her. She rose the weapon and fired straight into his chest. Down he went. She didn't so much as lift a finger, but turned and fired off five shots one at a time, taking out six men in one go. The seventh got close enough to throw a punch. She dodged, gripping his forearm with her surprisingly strong grip. She twirled, her skirt fanning out. There was a crunching sound and the man gasped in pain. This only made her smile more, (but not enough to touch her eyes). Left foot forward ever so slightly, weight shift. She leaned forward, bringing her elbow back ever so slightly. The momentum of these slight movements and flick of the wrist. The man went tumbling over her shoulders, landing flat on her back. She pointed her newly acquired weapon and fired.

From behind she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot. The main guy was coming for her. She had purposefully saved him for last.

Anchoring herself with one foot, she leaned forward and kicked out with simultaneous. Her heel connected with his nose. Such accurate aim. It always made her feel good about herself when she managed to land such a good hit.

She turned, her fist connecting to his stomach. He stumbled. Seizing her chance, she brought the butt of his own weapon on his head, causing him to sink to the ground.

He blinked open his eyes and gazed up at her stupidly. There he was, on his knees in front of a girl, all his friends dead. She stood right in front of him, legs shoulder width apart, gun pointed straight at his head point blank.

"You," he choked breathlessly. "You're not human."

"Sure I am," she said, then seemed to think about it. "Maybe I'm not." She smiled and shrugged. Then glared at him coldly. "At least I'm not you." And she pulled the trigger.


	6. 06 Oklahoma

I think he's coming to be one of my more interesting characters. At first, I wanted him to be the quiet type, like Maine, but the I decided to give him moral standards that maybe some others don't have. I really like him.

Theme song: "Second Chance" by Shinedown

Go ahead. I dare you. Be the first to review!

* * *

 **Oklahoma**

The man walked casually down the street. It was clear that he in no way intended to be inconspicuous. It would have been impossible anyway. At six feet sex inches, it was impossible to blend into the crowd. His appearance didn't help. Normally, the man went entirely bald. However he must be due for a shave soon, as there was a miniscule layer of auburn sticking out of his head. His eyes were cold black, looking straight ahead, not even deigning the passerby with a glance.

All of this was only backed by his incredible bulk. He made absolutely no effort to hide his bulging muscles, only going so far as to wear a beige leather jacket, and that wasn't really his modesty. A glance at his thermometer that morning had revealed that it was only going to get to about 8 degrees that day. Then he'd had to Google a conversion chart to figure out the temperature in Fahrenheit. (Why did he bother looking at that thing? Who reads Celsius in Tulsa Oklahoma?)

He paused at a crosswalk, breathing in the crisp, clear air. Late fall was his favorite time of year. He always enjoyed the change from warm to cold, where suddenly the humidity didn't feel as oppressive, the leaves were no longer dying from the heat and rather were dying from the change of the sun's position in the sky. It made his breathing feel easier, clearer. He also didn't sweat as much when he ran.

The light was still red, meaning he couldn't cross yet. Across the street was a park. There were lots of kids playing, running around and tossing dead leaves at each other. He smiled to himself, thinking of the carefree days of his youth. He liked being an adult, totally aware of his surroundings and able to fully process the information he gathered. And yet…there was something about the ignorance of youth that he missed.

One group of kids was playing soccer with different colored jerseys overtop regular running clothes. He smiled as he watched one kid dive in the way of the ball, sending it flying in the opposite direction, away from the net. It took dedication to throw yourself into harms way. Not that this soccer ball would be harmful, but to these youngsters, protecting their net from the opposing team meant everything. That was the kind of attitude that would one day make great soldiers out of these kids.

He watched the ball fly out of bounds, landing with a bounce beside a park bench, sending pigeons scattering. The ball rolled forward, tipping over the sidewalk edge and coming to rest in the middle of the road.

"I got it!" a small girl called, running out to get it. He could hear who was presumably her mom screaming something.

There was no time to think, only action. The man dropped his briefcase, racing forward and diving. His thick arms clamped around the little girl, who promptly dropped the ball. He hugged her against his chest, curling his body around her, caging her from all sides. Her scream sounded in his ears, sucked back into her body as he hit the ground. He rolled forward in somersault, hitting the opposite sidewalk with a painful bump. He could feel the heat of the engine of the enormous eighteen-wheeler as it chugged past. The driver didn't even stop to see if they were okay.

He rose to his feet, gently setting the girl on the sidewalk. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring at him blankly. It looked like she had wet herself. A quick inventory of himself told him none of it had gotten on him. Good, he hated going to meetings dirty.

"Hayley!" a woman's panicky voice resounded. She was running forward now. Her arms closed around the little girl. "Oh my god! Hayley! Are you okay?" She cupped her daughter's cheeks in both her hands.

The man had seen enough. The girl was safe. His job was done.

Without waiting for so much as a thanks he walked back across the street, collected his briefcase, and crossed the now green crosswalk.

…

The bar only looked little on the outside. Inside was open and broad, stretching back what could have been an entire city block. The place itself was pretty shady. More often than not, people did not come here for a simple night out. This was the place you went if you wanted an adventure.

This man lived for adventure. Every day he made sure to do at least one thing new. After all, what would his life become if he did the same old routine every day.

The chair next to him creaked as a short, dark-skinned man settled his romp. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked in an annoyingly calm voice. Calm, for lack of better word. It gave the man Goosebumps. He chose not to respond, just sipped on his iced water.

He sensed the other man's eyes on him. It made him incredibly uncomfortable. Not that he had to worry. He could handle just about anything. But in his line of work, having someone watch you was always a bad thing.

"I heard you were a piece of work, Andrew," the bar-sitter said suddenly.

He coughed, still refusing to look at his unwanted friend. "I prefer to be called Lyon."

The dark man tilted his head, examining him. "Lyon?" The man- Lyon –tilted his head and stared at him, unwavering. The dark man cocked his eyebrow, then shrugged, giving up. He turned towards the barman. "How about a drink for myself and my new friend?"

Lyon turned away. "I don't drink," he said stiffly.

The second man turned towards him, not showing surprise on his face, and yet Lyon could register it in the way his voice toned upward in his question. "You don't drink?"

"Nope." He pressed his lips and popped the 'p'.

"You don't want to get drunk?"

"I like my wits about me."

He turned his head to stare at his fellow for a long minute. The man shrugged again. "How about an iced tea, then?"

"Whatever." Lyon turned back to his water. He never drank anything but water. But if the man wanted to pay for a cup of melted iced tea let him have at it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bartender smirk. He knew exactly what was going to happen to that cup, and probably thought it was funny.

The second man was quiet (thank God!) as the drinks were being served. Lyon ignored his entirely as it was placed in front of him. The music was loud and the smoke was thick. He saw it every day and it still gave him a little bit of a rush.

"I saw what you did out there," the second man said. Lyon could feel his eyes again. "With the girl. You didn't have to do that."

He frowned. "I know I didn't."

The second man tilted his head. "So why did you do it?"

Lyon shrugged. "Because I could."

The man leaned toward him with interest. "Usually men in your…career field," he smirked and Lyon glared at him stiffly. "Don't like to draw attention to themselves."

Lyon felt a pulse of hatred for this guy. "Would you rather she had been killed?"

The man's eyes widened. "You were concerned for her life?"

This was it. The thing Lyon probably hated the most about his line of work: assumptions. "Of course I did!" He gaped at the strange man staring at him as though he'd just swallowed a flaming torch. He didn't see concern in there, just a curiosity- no, a hunger. It was the look of someone who _wanted_. No, _needed_. That look was never a good one. "Weren't you?" he asked, if only to distract.

"Accidents happen every day," the man said coldly. His chair creaked again as he sat back in a more comfortable position. "It was her mom's responsibility to keep her safe."

Lyon had known he would dislike this man the moment he'd first spoken. "So you would have let her die?"

The man chuckled, sipping on his drink. "Death happens every day, Lyon. I would think you, of all people, would know that." This stranger's eyes bored into him, again with that hungry look.

"My kills _mean_ something," he shot back. "Rapists, serial murderers, terrorists…people who leave no choice." He glared at the man, anger filling him. People like this stranger didn't understand. People like this stranger saw death as a tool, a means to get what they want. Lyon didn't agree with that view. Murder was…it wasn't a "go to". If sinking that low could be avoided, by all means it was. Death was a last resort for those who can't be saved, either from their enemies or themselves.

"What do you want?" he asked at last.

The man hesitated, staring at Lyon with interest. "You were…discharged, from the military?"

"With honors," Lyon replied. He didn't want this man knowing about him, about his past. But Lyon was an honest man, and would not lie unless he had to. "Landed in a minefield one day. Blew the hearing straight out my right ear. I was deemed 'unfit for duty' after that."

"You were a Paratrooper?"

Lyon smirked. "I wanted to do good, to save my people." He frowned, remembering how tough life had been, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. He'd thrived in that environment, all up until one of his missions had gone horribly wrong. "That's how I got into this line of business." He gestured to the man, indicating their current interaction. "I want to take out the evil in this world, even if I can't serve."

The man stared at him for a long time, making Lyon a bit uncomfortable. He wondered what sort of job this man had signed up for him. If he would even take it. Maybe he'd take out the stranger instead. A man like this could not have a good purpose for him. He would have to do some personal research.

"My name is Aiden Price," the man said at last.

Lyon took a deep breath. "I typically don't like to know the name of my customers."

"It's okay, Andrew," the man said, using Lyon's birth name. He glared. "You see, I'm not hiring you to do a hit."

Lyon leaned forward. "Excuse me?"

"I work for Project Freelancer," the man continued.

Lyon glared. "Never heard of it," he admitted gruffly.

"Of course you haven't," Aiden chuckled. God he was actually _laughing_ at him. "It's a top secret government project." Top secret? To say he was officially interested was an understatement. "You want to be useful? We have need for skills like yours."

"Why me?" Lyon asked after a minute. "There are plenty of paratroopers, in practice, with better hearing than me. Why would you come down to my level?"

Aiden smirked. "Those aren't the skills we're talking about." Cold washed over him. They needed an assassin, and they wanted him. "You were recommended to our program by an anonymous source. After doing some…background research, we've decided that you are indeed the man we want." Background research? Lyon didn't like the sound of that. He didn't know what to say so he chose not to respond. "Understand you will be more than compensated for your hard work. You will be reinstated into the military"- Lyon's head snapped up to stare at him in shock -"and all your record will be cleared. You will be given quarters to live complete with everything you will need."

Everything would be provided? Reinstated in the military? A clear record? What on earth was this Project Freelancer that they'd want a half-deaf military defect murderer? What was going on here?

"What do you say?" Aiden asked, holding out his hand. Lyon hesitated only a second before taking it.

"When do we begin?"


	7. 07 Maryland

I haven't actually picked a song for her out yet. If you think of any, let me know either in review or in a PM! Kudos to anyone who can figure out which city she's from (although really it's not that hard to figure out...)

* * *

 **Maryland**

She was not exactly tall. About average was a better way to describe her. Without her boots she was approximately 5'5", but that meant very little in the grand scheme of things. It was the proportions that mattered. She had long legs, not too much longer than her torso, but it was easy to describe her as "leggy". They weren't just average legs either. They were thick, skin stretched over huge muscles. "Muscle-y" was another word often used to describe her.

In fact, she was quite intimidating. It was clear she was quite the athletic type, or at least she hit the gym often. Rippling abs, noticeable triceps, strong back…this girl could probably lift a truck.

Not to mention her face. She had a distinct jawline, round cheekbones, a nose slightly off center…her eyes were so dark brown they were almost black. Her wiry hair _was_ black, coming down to curl at her shoulders. Tonight, she had it pulled back in a ponytail.

It wasn't an unusual night per say. The streetlamps revealed a couple of groups of people marching along down the walkways. Most of the buildings were dark, the businesses done for the day, however a few desperate patrons, up all night to gather more money, still had their shop lights on.

The town was a mess. This entire city was a mess. There was more hate in these 93 square miles than in the rest of the country put together. However to this girl, it was home, and that was important.

She had not set boots down here for a very long time. Growing up, she had managed to convince herself that she didn't want to be here, that she needed to escape. At 17 she'd thought if she just went to college in another state…by 18 she was enlisted in the UNSC.

Usually it was the other way around: the CO would knock on the parent's doors and inform them of the news that would make their heads bow, their hands fly to their mouths and their eyes fill with water. The CO would take off their hat in respect and offer the grieving families assistance in their time of need.

It had been backwards with this girl. She'd just returned from her mission, still high with the success of it when her CO had called her to attention. In front of the entire squadron he'd given her the news. Something inside her had shaken so hard she'd went dizzy. This wasn't how it was meant to be. She could recall her mother's dark eyes, boring into her after basic, making her _promise_ to survive this war…well she'd kept her promise alright. How could her mother have not?

She'd been given exactly 3 weeks of leave. Go home, bury mother, return to work. With the fighting at its thickest, they couldn't afford to lose even one soldier who was still capable of fighting.

The funeral had been unpleasant for many reasons. First there was the discomfort that she was the only survivor of her immediate family. No father or siblings left, or at least none that showed up. Then there were the distant cousins and family friends, some churchgoers who loved her mother. _Adored_ her mother. She had kept her distance from everyone, and they her. It was easier that way.

Returning to this city after so many years was both scary and reassuring. It was not easy, coming back to a place where she had lived in extreme discomfort for so long. Her first step along the cracked asphalt had been enough to turn her around and get her marching back, trying desperately to return from where she'd come. Respect for her late mother had kept her rooted.

It was comforting to know she'd made the right choice by leaving. Being back only reminded her why she'd traveled so far in the first place. She'd needed the escape, and once she was gone she'd spent every day remembering why she'd left. This return was not at all welcome. She felt no urges to return to her old haunts or reach out to one-time friends. Every fiber of her being wanted only to get back to her unit and continue the fight.

From her right, a group of young men were leaning against a brick wall, eyeing her with interest. She raised her head, nose in the air, strutted forward with all the confidence she could muster- which was a lot of confidence, really. She was a UNSC Navy Seal. Nothing these rogues could do would ever scare her.

"Hey!" one of the men barked at her. Another whistled. She ignored them. "No wait!" he called again, his voice sounding less intimidating and more friendly. It was almost familiar. "Lake, is that you?"

Lakeisha froze, debating what to do next. Should she answer? After all, who in this city knew her name? Especially after so long.

"It _is_ you!" the guy cried, squinting into her face. "Man it's been too long! What are you doing back in the city?"

Lake looked him up and down. His voice was entirely unfamiliar to her but there was vague recognition in his face. No name came to her mind, no sense of familiarity. Nothing. Who was he?

"Oh, yeah," he muttered. "Lake come on, it's me, Jayden."

She frowned. "Jayden?" she asked, her voice a resounding alto. Jayden…she hadn't seen him since high school. Indeed they'd been really close back in the day. After the time she'd pulled the prank on her commander in basic and had had to run laps around the track naked, nothing embarrassed her anymore. This was a fact she was glad for, because otherwise she might've been quite flustered. Jayden was the one she'd lost her virginity to.

"Hey, yeah, it's me baby," he said quietly, smiling his brilliant smile. Lake deadpanned. "What're you doing back in town?"

"Funeral," she said shortly. Jayden did not stop smiling.

"Yeah, I saw in the news about that. Sorry to hear about your mother."

Jayden perhaps didn't realize he was inching closer to her, but Lake certainly did. It was probably an unconscious thing, in some way trying to comfort her but not knowing how. However years of fighting plenty of enemies had not warmed Lake up to the idea of being touched. She edged backwards minutely, hoping to drive the point home.

The thought had barely crossed her mind when, out of the nearest shop, two men burst out. She could see the flush against their dark cheeks, their laughter faltering as they found themselves face-to-face with her gun. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Someone comes bursting out of the nearest exit and she shoots them. That's how life goes in the UNSC Naval fleet. In fact, they were lucky she hadn't pulled the trigger. Yet.

For a moment that feels like a lifetime, everyone froze, staring at her, first in panic and then in awe. Everyone began to relax _except_ for Lake. She never relaxed. Never. Especially not while holding her shotgun to the head of two complete strangers.

"Wow, that's some piece you got," one of the men said, she thought to Jayden.

"What?" she hissed, tilting her head fractionally. She didn't take her eyes off of the two newcomers though. With a hint of satisfaction she noticed _they_ haven't moved.

"The _gun_ ," the man clarified, walking towards her. He stopped only when she whipped around to point it at him. "Where'd you get it?" He asked casually, although Lake wasn't fooled. She could hear a tiny note of anxiety in his voice.

"Where do you think?" said another of the men. "She's a soldier, just look at her."

Lake narrowed her eyes slightly, pinpointing the _ta-thump_ of his jugular. What a spectacular shot _that_ would be. No one back at base would believe her.

Jayden is the only one who looked dead serious, eyeballing her gun with genuine terror in his eyes. "Lake," he reassured her breathlessly. "You can put it away. We're not going to hurt you."

Lake hesitated only a moment longer before lowering her weapon. She did not immediately holster it. Truth be told, she did not feel entirely safe among this group of men. Jayden was…all right. _Maybe_. But she didn't know the rest, and it scared her a little to think how outnumbered she'd be in a fight against them.

For the second time that night (for the second time since running into Jayden) her thoughts are about a second ahead of what's happening around her. They all seemed to be closing in on her, surrounding her almost. She lifted her head, her chin up. One of them was admiring her posture, another bravely examining her chest. Jayden was the only one who looked a little uncomfortable at this change, noticeably standing back from the group and breaking the circle.

"Hey baby," one of the men whose skull she'd nearly put a bullet through slurred. "Where are you off to, anyway?"

"Church," she answered stiffly. This was a complete lie. She was in fact headed back to her hotel for the night, had only stopped on this stupid street to see if Benny's Bistro was still open and if she could get a world-class sandwich at this late hour. She couldn't. It was too late.

Her mother was buried at a church not too far from there though. A Baptist seminary, actually, where she'd attended many a sermon and even attended classes. Lake had been forced to go there for the funeral. She'd had to give a speech about her mother. To describe it as awkward was the understatement of the year. Lake absolutely hated churches (the calm, expectedly peaceful attitude was _not_ her forte), and quite honestly she hadn't known _what_ to say about her mother. Her mind could not connect the woman she'd last seen as her mother- leaving house when she was just sixteen years old to score some hits off the street (probably this very street)- and the woman who everyone else was grieving- the humble clergywoman who coached youth volleyball. They were not the same person, really, and Lake had stumbled through her speech wheezing that she only ever wanted to make her mother proud and hoped that in whatever afterlife everyone expected her to be in (that Lake didn't believe in herself) her mother was still watching her.

"Fuck that," the guy admiring her (outrageously small) tits said. She noticed with a flash of disgust there was drool in his stubble. "Why don't you stay here for a while, baby? Hang with some real men?"

If her mother was watching her now, she'd probably have died again from a heart attack. Lake was a good fighter, there was no doubt about that. But her strongest suit _by far_ was her sharpshooting. Her skills with a rifle were impeccable. It was how she had gotten this far in the Seals. However she was in close-quarters with at least five dudes- six if you counted Jayden –and she was not entirely certain this was a battle she could win.

However there was one thing about her everyone who ever met her agreed on: she was stubborn as fuck, and there was _no way_ she was going to back down from a fight with a bunch of drunk idiots. She smirked, shifting infinitesimally, sliding her dominant foot back about an inch and curling her dominant arm back with it. Should the need arise to throw a punch, she would probably have cold-clocked the nearest guy in about .3 seconds tops.

She never got the chance.

The first bullet simultaneously nicked the wall and convinced Lake that whoever was shooting totally sucked at shooting. By the time the second bullet came whizzing past where the booby admirer was standing, the men had fanned out, forming a defensive line, which Lake though was pure stupidity because they were liable to be picked off one by one this way.

It didn't occur to her that it had anything to do with her until Jayden was tugging her along by her wrist. "Come _on_ , Lake!" he hissed, dragging her behind him down the alleyway. She jerked her arms out of his grip and glared at him, teeth bared.

"What is going on?"

He shook his head. "I can't explain now- "

"Are they letting themselves get killed for me?"

Jayden chuckled. He _actually fucking chuckled_. "Oh don't worry about them."

Lake froze, listening. She could definitely hear gunshots from behind. It sounded like a real firefight back there, and for a wild second she thought she was back in the front lines, watching as her fellow humans shot helplessly at the advancing Covenant. The war had turned real for her when she'd seen one of the members in her squad, the one she'd gone through Basic with, get his head blown off by a Needler.

But that was then and this was now. Not without effort, she wrenched herself back to the present. People were stupid, she reflected solemnly. Here they were in the middle of a war _to the death_ with an alien race, and still people would be shooting each other in this city.

"What, are they a rival gang?" she asks monotonously, not really about the answer. But when Jayden fell silent, the danger they were in really hit home for her. Gangs in this city were not a rare thing in this city. Although she'd wanted to believe the colossal draft the UNSC had held not all that long ago would have taken all of these skilled gunmen off the streets and into the battlefield (where they were desperately needed by this point), she was not that stupid. Gang violence would _always_ be happening in this city.

"We've gotta go," Jayden was saying suddenly, pulling Lake out of her thoughts and grabbing at her wrists again. "You can't- I mean- just we gotta go."

She ripped her arms away from his grasp, shaking her head and staring at him like he was the biggest idiot she'd ever met because at that moment she wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't. "Fuck that, dude," she said with a slight smirk.

"What?" he demanded, squaring her up. "Lake, we _have_ to."

She shrugged breezily. "We could. _Or_ we could climb up to the roof of that building and take them all out." It sounded like the most obvious thing, and aroused a sneer from her when Jayden gaped at her, clearly not having thought of it.

"You think you can hit them with that shotgun?"

Rolling her eyes, she slung it back over her shoulder and produced a rifle. At that Jayden did a double take. "Where the living fuck did that come from?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, reveling in his little to absolute no knowledge of how the military operated. "I've been carrying it with me the whole time, Jayden."

His jaw dropped. "What the- _where_?"

"My holster," she said, widening her eyes in false innocence. He stared at her for perhaps a minute longer before seemingly deciding to drop it.

"Alright. The roof. How are we getting there?"

"Hmm," she responded a little _too_ wide-eyed. "I have no idea." He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously before turning around to stare at the ladder stretching all the way to the roof.

"Fuck," he muttered.

…

The climb to the roof was not a short one. Jayden, as it turned out, was scared of heights. It took a lot of coaxing at first, and when that didn't work directly making fun of him to get him to keep climbing. Whenever he began to freeze up, Lake reminded him it was all to help his friends survive the firefight, which seemed light a fire under his ass and get him moving. He didn't complain after that.

Once they were up and well on the roof (Jayden glancing back down with a slue of curse words uttered under his breath), Lake smirked. This was her thing. Sharpshooting was her thing. When she'd first enlisted, vanishing off to Basic before her long career in the military, she'd been terrified. What was going to happen? The first time she'd held a gun during training, she'd clutched it like it was her lifeline. Truly it was. The cold metal clasped in her fist was the only thing keeping her from certain death. Being a sharpshooter, her armor wasn't as thick as those in, say, Infantry. Distance (and good aim) was the key.

Laying on her stomach upon this rooftop, above the harsh streetlights and holding the scope of her gun to her eye, she felt more at home than she ever had since her return. This was what she had extensively trained for.

At once when she looked through the scope, though, she realized that this might be more difficult than she'd originally thought. Everyone below her looked relatively the same. She would have hoped after being surrounded by Jayden's friends, she would recognize at least one of them. Instead, she couldn't tell one person from the next.

"Hey yo," Jayden said, sounding irritated. "Badass sniper chick? Aren't you supposed to be taking them out?"

"I can't tell them apart!" she admitted. "Which ones do I shoot?"

"Take out the ones killing my friends!"

She narrowed her eyes and tapped into her limited cesspool of patience. "Everyone's killing one another, so you're going to have to be a little more specific," she hissed.

"We all have a lightning bolt somewhere on our bodies!"

"Just peachy," she whistled, exasperated. However it didn't take long to locate one with a lightning bolt tattooed across his wrist. He was slashing upwards but his momentum sent him back, exposing his chest. She saw the man he was fighting against smirk and raise his weapon.

That was as far as he got before her bullet went through his eye.

It didn't take long for the opposing fighters to realize that there was a sniper involved. Soon they were scrambling to get back to their car. With a carefree smirk Lake put another bullet into the heel of one of the retreating men, if only to get the message to sink in (but she wasn't above shooting her enemy in the back while they retreated). However tempted she was to shoot out their tires, she let them drive away. Cutting off their retreat would only prolong the fight, and amp up the surefire retaliation Jayden's friends would feel once she was gone. No, for now, let them go.

"Ho-ly _shit_!" Jayden exclaimed, his face one of pure delight. "Holy shit! Did you see them run? Damn Lakeisha that was some fine shooting! Holy shit!"

"Jayden," she murmured hesitantly, peering over the edge. It looked like one of his men had collapsed into the ground, but oddly no one was helping him. In fact, everyone was scattering in many different directions and that car pulling up looked oddly suspicious until the lights started flashing and reality sunk in.

Blind panic took over. If she got caught now, they could court martial her straight out of the military. "Jayden, we have to go!"

But she was too late. "Freeze!" a voice called from behind them, and with a muttered "Son of a bitch." Lakeisha dropped her weapon and put her hands up.

…

 _onetwothreefour….onetwothreefour….onetwothreefour…_

Lakeisha drummed her fingers against the desk in front of her. Patience was not one of her strongest qualities, and she'd used a lot of it up already tonight. Already this week. Already this fucking war.

It had been exactly 7200 seconds since she'd been dropped into this chair. 120 minutes. 2 hours. 4356 drums of her fingers across the desktop. Although intimidating, sitting in this tiny interrogation room was preferable to sitting in a cell, which was most definitely where Jayden probably was. However patience wasn't her strong suit, and Lake was about ready for something to happen.

The door opened and a man walked in, glaring at her with wrinkled gray eyes and years of experience dealing with "young rapscallions". This was not the officer who'd arrested her, but he was holding something in his hand that made her double take: her guns.

"If it were up to me, you wouldn't be getting these," he said stiffly. The only reason her jaw didn't drop and her eyes didn't pop is because she was staring to intently at her weapons. Although her brow did traverse up to her hairline.

"You're giving me my guns?"

That seemed to stupid. Why would they return her weapons to her after they'd witnessed her shooting civilians? Wasn't she under arrest?

"Not just yet," he sneered, clearly disgusted with what he saw sitting before him. Lakeisha didn't care what he thought of her. She'd saved his hide many times over in the War, and wasn't intimidated by anything anymore. However his tone did prick her curiosity. "I'm putting them here. There's someone who would like to talk to you."

He leaned her guns against the wall, making room for the newcomer. He was a short, clean-shaved man with dark…everything. His eyes were chocolate, his skin leathery leaves in the late fall, his lips pursed and god _damn_ even his clothes were standard issue black. It was the uniform that caught her attention. And the look of dreamy _carelessness_ in his eyes. All of it put her on edge immediately.

"Lakeisha Miller," he said, and it caught her off guard. The way he said it…it was almost reverently, as though she were a celebrity and he was finally getting to talk to her in person.

"Lake," she corrected automatically. His eyes roamed over her form, from her muscles to her stance. She didn't at all like the feeling she got from his stare. Like she was being x-rayed.

"Nice to meet you. I am Aiden Price, The Counselor of Project Freelancer." He held out his hand, she watched his liquid movements and didn't return the gesture. This man- The Counselor –didn't seem at all perturbed by her rudeness. "I have heard of your skill as a handy sniper. It is my pleasure to see that your recommendations were correct!"

If meeting the man caught her off guard, this last statement of his totally blew her away. " _What_?" she demanded, sitting forward and glaring at him.

He blinked at her serenely. "I saw what you did out there. I was quite impressed."

" _WHAT_?" At this she went to stand, but then thought better of it. Probably Gruffy McGruffHate from the hallways would shoot her with her own weapons if she came of at all threatening. "I _shot_ people and you're congratulating me?"

The Counselor tilted his head curiously. "You think you should be in trouble?"

"Isn't that why I'm here?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course not," he answered, waving his hand as though a pesky fly were bothering him. "You're here because I needed to find you. It was…unfortunate that we found you in such a state."

"Jesus jumped-up Christ," she muttered, leaning back again. "Unfortunate is a word for it. You know I almost got killed twice tonight?"

He continued to stare at her with those unnerving eyes until she'd caught on. "Why were you looking for me?"

As if out of nowhere he pulled out a thick sheaf of papers in a manila envelope. Lake stared open-mouthed, feeling probably as Jayden had when she'd pulled out her sniper. "Your CO recommended you to our program." His voice sounded smooth, but the look on his face suggested he was rather enjoying her reaction to all of this. "Said you could put a bullet through anybody's eye from nine miles out."

She snarled. It wasn't like she hadn't _heard_ about Project Freelancer. The Seals had gotten wind of it from near the beginning, and maybe she'd put her name down a long time ago, but after not hearing about it for _years_ , she'd almost entirely forgotten about it. Now it was coming back to haunt her?

"So what if I can?" she asked haughtily, sticking her nose up in the air to better glare at him.

He smiled in a way that she did not at all like. "So you're hired."


	8. 08 Kansas

Her song is "ET" performed by Pentatonix. This is the last of the preliminary chapters. From now on we're going to see some legit plot going on. Hope you enjoy! Please feel free review!

* * *

 **Kansas**

It started with the steady thrum of fingers across a keyboard. Like dancing, digits moving in perfectly synchronized rhythm while their owner's brow furrowed in concentration. The hum of an electronic device powering up. A slight whine with a scan. Letters, forever imprinted on a piece of paper.

Movement. It was taken by steady hands, thick hands.

A deep voice. "Arcadia?"

A second. "Yup."

"Not that far this time."

"Nope."

Another whine, a small rumble. The letters on the paper flat down. A high pitched tone. A bright shining light, so bright it shines through the paper. The words are dark shadows.

…

Then it is a signal. It is intangible, effortless. Ethereal. Nothing but light, on a much lower wavelength. It speeds along, three times ten to the eight. It goes and goes.

…

Arcadia. The ship. There is an antenna. It hits the antenna and is swallowed whole. Taken in. It's falling, falling…floating. It rests. Another high tone. A dial tone. There is a whirring. The printer stamps those letters again into reality. A click. It easily falls into place, a slot. Hand grasp it, pull it away from the printer and into an envelop. Walking, footsteps. Different hands. Ripping paper. Bare. Readable.

…

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," the man said, holding the paper at arm's length. The look on his face was that of someone who had just smelled an incredible stink. Or gotten incredibly bad news.

Another man, taller but lankier, his helmet covering his face and thus any reaction he might be showing wheeled around in his seat to face the man. "What is it, Stanton?"

In answer, the man hands over the paper. "Look at this, Mílo," he hissed. "This must be the fourth one this week."

Mílo took the paper. "Four is better than none," he muttered distractedly, but his eyes were roving over the paper with great care. He whistled. "Look at the recommendation on this one though."

Stanton took it and reread. Then reread it again. "No way. _No way_."

Mílo stared at him, helmet impassive as every but voice filled with appropriate awe. "Must be _some_ soldier to get a recommendation from _him_." Stanton lifted his head, eyes wide.

"Do we call him in?"

"Fuck that," Mílo answered in a tone that was not open for argument. "We absolutely do _not_ bother the Director unless it's important."

"Okay," Stanton agreed heavily. "So let's call The Counselor. I'm sure he's gonna want to talk to her."

Mílo was already shaking his head. "No. We should try to get into contact with her CO."

Stanton sighed heavily, but agreed nonetheless.

…

"General," they said in unison, snapping their arms up into a salute.

"At ease," the man said stoutly. It was enough to keep the men tense, even though the directive had been given. "What am I being harassed for this time?"

"Not to harass you, sir," Stanton said quickly, but Mílo talked over him.

"We need to find Lieutenant Fletcher, sir."

The General's eyes bugged. "Whatever for?"

Stanton exchanged a look with his superior. General's response could only mean one thing: Fletcher was not there. "Did you receive her relocation orders?" Mílo asked uncertainly.

The General frowned in response. "So what if I did?"

"Well, we're looking for her," Mílo said patiently. "We need- "

The General's eyes went from stern to downright angry. "What you need, is to back off," he drawled. "I got her orders. I will deliver them to her myself. Now leave it, understood?"

The men frowned, but no one would dare defy a direct order such as this one. The time had come to bring in the higher ups. They couldn't handle this alone anymore. "Sir, yes sir!" they changed in unison, snapping to attention just in time for the screen to go dark.

"Well what do we do now?" Stanton asked miserably. Mílo already had a plan.

"Call the Counselor."

…

General Ackerly had had almost enough of stupid Project Freelancer. They were in the middle of fighting a strict war, and while he respected that any advantage they could get was a good one, he didn't think sending some of the best soldiers under his wing to any computer scientists who's title was Dr. was a good idea. They needed their best fighters in the field, their programmers and scientists in the lab, and the technology coming faster. Project Freelancer was going to slow things down, he thought. Then again, he didn't know very much about it. His uppers had seemed keen on keeping quiet about the whole affair.

Still, he had not seen his wife in nearly six years. She was back on planet Earth, waiting for him. Faithfully, he hoped. He could only hope because now, transmissions in and out of his area were strictly regulated. They were surrounded on all sides. Having transitions going between warriors and their worried families would only reveal their location. Too risky.

And yet here, twice in the last 24 hours, here he was receiving a closed channel transmission from fucking Project Freelancer. The General didn't curse very often. His underlings had learned a long time ago that when he began muttering a string of foul language under his breath, the time had come to scramble as far away from him as you could get. This was one of those times.

He stopped in front of the telecommunicator and snarled loudly, "What do you _want_?" before freezing. He did not recognize the man before him, but he recognized his authority instantly. Not the kind of authority granted to you by badges. It was clear this guy was used to being pushed around, in fact. The authority instead was something unquestionably primal. This was a survivor.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, quelled by the air of the man before him.

"I am looking for Lieutenant Fletcher," The Man spoke in such a calm, smooth voice that immediately put the General on edge. And after all that he'd seen and done in this war, that was no small feat.

Still. He was a military _general_. He had authority to uphold. "I told your men earlier to quit meddling," he snapped.

"We're not meddling," The Man explained in an irritatingly calm voice. "We have orders to bring her here. Your refusal to cooperate is entirely on you."

The General shifted, a little uncomfortable. "I have orders too," he shot back defensively.

"Of course. I know you are a man who follows orders, General Ackerly." The Man's voice was all false comfort. "However, her reassignment orders should have been issued to you by now. She needs to come. I'm sure you did not mean to defy orders."

"I'm not defying orders!" he hissed, but it wasn't quite as passionate as he meant it to be. Truthfully, he couldn't bring himself to be angry in front of This Man, no matter how hard he tried. "She'll come as soon as she can."

The Man tilted his head and leaned forward ever so slightly. "She is…unavailable?"

"She's out on assignment," General responded, trying to sound patient instead of nervous. "She hasn't returned yet."

"Well," The Man said, leaning back in his seat. "That is most unfortunate. You see, her orders are to arrive here within 45 hours of receiving the prompt."

The General shook his head. "That's impossible. First I'd have to send a team out to _find_ her, then bring her safely in, all of this without getting caught mind you. Then I'd have to load her onto a ship with all of her things. There is absolutely no way she'd make it to you guys in time."

"Hmm," The Man hummed quietly. "That's too bad. Dice will be interested to hear this."

"Dice?" The General fidgeted a little closer on his screen. "What's _he_ got to do with this?"

The Man smirked a little. "It was Dice who recommended her to our program. He put in the relocation orders, as I'm sure you noticed."

Ackerly had noticed. He had promptly ignored it. "Well look, it's against safety protocol. I can try my best, but there are no guarantees that she'll be there."

"Well," The Man said, shaking his head slowly. "That's too bad."

…

She stepped carefully off the transport and onto solid metal. The gravity here was stronger than expected, surprising her a little. She was extremely good at hiding it though. Really, she shouldn't be that surprise. She'd spent a lot of time recently in space.

"Name?" one of the nearest men asked her in a voice nearing boredom.

"Lieutenant Fletcher."

She had never seen anyone change demeanors so fast, unless you counted the times everyone had scrambled for the hills when General Ackerly got mad. He was mostly business though, and everyone could see him getting angry a mile away. This however…the man went from dullness and slowpoke to snapping to attention.

"Yes ma'am," he said breathlessly. "Right this way ma'am."

There wasn't really time to ponder this odd behavior turnaround, and while Fletcher cared a great deal, she wasn't inclined to ask about it. "What about my luggage?"

"That will be handled, ma'am."

"Oh, well thank you." As a Lieutenant, she was used to getting respect from soldiers. This was entirely different from that. He wasn't just acting this way because she was an officer. Her insignia with her rank was on her blues. No, this was his response to _her_ specifically. "That's…yes, lead the way."

He took off at a brisk pace. After some time in shifting gravity, this was a bit strong for her. However Lieutenant Fletcher was not disturbed by it, and was able to keep up just fine.

They walked for what felt like forever. This ship (The Mother of Invention, was it called?) was positively huge. A maze of never-ending steel hallways and harsh lights. Along the way, she saw what appeared to be locker rooms, about a million study rooms, a branch off with a sign that read mess hall, among others. The people were way more fascinating. Most of them seemed to be in uniform, save a few. There was a girl with red hair leaning against a wall, talking to a tall man. The scene was so specifically flirtatious that even from a distance, Fletcher could feel the tingling sensation of being hit on. She wanted to tell them to get a room but her guide was already moving on.

They (finally) stopped at a set of double doors. Her guide knocked once before entering, and she followed him closely, observing. They were in what appeared to be a massive observation deck. Her eyes widened, looking out the windshield (more like the front wall) and into space. The closest star was shining so bright she squinted.

"Director, sir!" the man positively squeaked. "Perry reporting!"

"Report," said a man with a Southern drawl. Fletcher's brow furrowed. The spectacular view had distracted her, but the room was full of people. A flurry of activity as the people aboard worked to keep the ship running. There were two men, however, distinctly _not_ doing any of these things. One stood with his feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped together behind his back, staring out the front window with his back to them. The second was a shorter man, hovering next to the southerner with a datapad up, clicking madly away at something on the screen.

"I've brought Lieutenant Fletcher," he said shakily. The hovering man whirled to look at her, hungry eyes roving over her form. Disgust cesspooled in her stomach, causing her to sneer ever so slightly at him.

However no amount of mistrust in the second guy could prepare her for the penetrating stare of the first. His eyes were the brightest green she'd ever seen. They were electrified, intense, a closed circuit behind them filtering them with constant light.

Immediate warning bells went off in her head. This must be The Director. She'd heard about him in her debriefing, that he was a brainiac computer modeling engineer guy, but that was it. His sense of authority pounced on her the moment they made eye contact, and she couldn't help but feel as if he were Xeroxing her like she were just a thin piece of paper.

"Lieutenant Fletcher, reporting for duty," she said automatically, her arm jerking into a hasty salute. However sloppy her form must have been, it seemed to please The Director, because he smiled.

"At ease." He looked her up and down. "You are…shorter than I thought you were going to be." Fletcher didn't know how to respond to this, so she didn't. The Director stared at her a moment longer. "Counselor, fill her in, would you?"

"Naturally," the second man answered airily. He motioned swiftly for her to follow, and she did.

"I'm sure you have many questions," he said once they were clear of the front deck.

"I have a few," she admitted, looking around as they continued to walk.

"Well, as I'm sure you've heard, Project Freelancer is a branch off the military using experimental technologies."

"Including an AI?" she interrupted, staring at him. This was her test, to see how angry he got.

Disappointment sagged in her stomach as the man merely shrugged. "We have not acquired any AI as of yet. However, I will let you know if we do." She narrowed her eyes.

"Each Agent will be assigned to a Squad," he began. "That is the people they will train under their specialties with."

"Okay?" She wondered which 'squad' they thought she belonged to.

"You will also be assigned to a unit. These will be the people you complete your mission objectives with."

"Right," she muttered. "So you have the people you train to become better with, and the people you work with."

"Basically." He stopped, looking at her. "You are being assigned to Unit S."

"Cool," she said. "What squad am I then?"

"Leadership," he answered stiffly, and she had to do a double take.

"Leadership?" He nodded. "What the hell does that even mean?"

He smiled slowly. "You were recommended to our program for your knowledge in communications, and your history of leading those under your care through dangerous missions."

Yeah, she was special operations. What did they expect?

"So you will be leading, Unit S, and will report to your squad with the leaders of the other Units."

Her body wanted to react in so many different ways. Her heart wanted to jump out of her ribcage, her feet wanted to turn to statue, her jaw wanted to drop and her eyes wanted to pop out of her skull. She also had an insane desire to laugh.

She did none of these things, however, and looked down at her paperwork again. The Counselor was eyeballing her as though he wanted to Xerox her. It didn't have quite the punch to it as the Director naturally had. "Unit S," she muttered. "What does that even mean?"

"Your Unit's job will be gathering intelligence and high-level assets."

"So what, S is for 'secret' or something?"

His eyes roved over her, searching for something. Fletcher would not give him the satisfaction of finding whatever he was looking for. "Or something."

She took a deep breath, eyes roaming the paperwork for something to do. "I'm Agent Kansas? Isn't that a bit obvious?" She had grown up outside Topeka.

"It was randomly assigned, I assure you."

Kansas. Kansas. That was going to take some getting used to. Assignment orders were assignment orders, and Fle-Kansas couldn't deny that special operations in a Unit such as this one was pretty damn cool. Besides, she would have an entire unit full of highly trained operatives, and a squad consisting over other leaders to work with.

What could possibly go wrong?


End file.
